


Pyrrhic Report

by DizzyJadea5678



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Gen, M/M, Other, the major character death tag is bc of bright losing a few hosts, they dont actually die but im tagging to be safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyJadea5678/pseuds/DizzyJadea5678
Summary: For Dr. Jack Bright (they/them), it's business as usual--deal with dangerous reality-altering anomalies, try not to get fired, and don't think about their previous relationship with Dr. Alto Clef, who has been avoiding them since they broke up. Unfortunately, after a short reunion that ends with Clef shooting his previous partner, Bright realizes there might be more at stake than either of their feelings.For SCP-035 (he/she/they), it's business as usual--deal with an insatiable longing, try not to go bored in isolation, and don't think about what happened back in Alagadda, which haunts them more than they would like to admit. Fortunately, a certain site direction has been distracted lately, and his old home calls to them stronger than ever.For Ichthys, Lotus, and Rex, it's business as normal--deal with the secrets of AWCY's greatest collaboration to date, try not to get caught and killed by the renown Alto Clef, and don't think about how much nicer it would be to kiss than to steal, respectfully. Fortunately, they have each other. Unfortunately, that's all they've got.
Relationships: Jack Bright/Dr. Alto Clef, SCP-035/SCP-049 (SCP Foundation)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	1. awcy or gaw? who knows

**Author's Note:**

> so ngl, initially wrote the first three chapters as three separate flash fics. then i realized they could technically be part of the same story and i went :o . anyway, this is something that i dont work on often but would like to work on more, and i was hoping that posting it online would encourage me to write it. feel free to leave a comment about anything!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Test: find and capture  
> Results: 2/3 captured  
> Note: "It was just supposed to be a fun day. A fun competition."

She popped one of her fingers into her mouth and chewed. “Why isn’t she here yet?”

“Relax,” said MYrdDiN92jh, lifting an arm. The crumbling brick wall (old texture; sore thumb compared to the rest of the models) twitched a foot back. “She’ll be here.”

“What if her VPN—“

“What if this, what if that,” replied MYrdDiN92jh, unblinking. “Chill. It’s fine. You’re doing it again.”

39ICHTHYSxxKING74 winced as part of her nail polish flacked off in her mouth. Quickly, she spit it out, frowning. She should stop with the biting, she thought to herself, as if she hadn’t thought it a hundred times already in the past day.

She wheeled herself closer to the wall and reached out. At her touch, the coding for the wall filled her eyes, and she skimmed it with glazed eyes. “When was the last time you updated this place?”

“Don’t bother with it,” MYrdDiN92jh said, a little too quickly. “Save your energy for the chalk.”

“Chalk,” she muttered, glancing back. Subconsciously, her finger slid back into her mouth. “She’s almost never late.”

“True, but she’s probably taking care of her sister.“

“I can’t believe you bought that,” said 39ICHTHYSxxKING74. “Hydrocephalus my ass.”

“You’re gonna regret saying that if it’s true.”

“I’m starting to regret everything to do with her,” she said. “I mean, come on, she sucks at coding, she can barely use VR, and we expect her to be able to deal with this place?” She motioned around. “She’s probably already been caught by those... ugh, pedantic conformists! And then she’ll lead them to us, and they’ll either kill us or take all of my WIPs, and...”

MYrdDiN92jh glanced over. Why couldn’t he have chosen a more expressive model to use? Why that stupid static morph suit? (God, it was like everything he did was a decade behind aesthetically. She’d admit, he was a damn good coder when it came to functionality, but he could stand to take an art lesson. Especially for someone who claimed to be cool!)

“I’m not playing into that game anymore,” he said quietly. “You agreed she could be here.”

“That was before her weird excuses.”

“Could you not use that tone of voice?”

They glared at each other for a moment. Or, rather, she glared at him and his blank model stared back, in what she could only assume was supposed to be malice.

_ beep _

39ICHTHYSxxKING74 glanced at her wrist, where various messages were displayed. The most recent flashed blue and white. From parsingrex0987. She was tempted to ignore it.

**_“found found me”_ **

“What?” she muttered.

Quickly, another message appeared. “ **_know where u r_ ** ”

“What is it?” said MYrdDiN92jh. She repeated the message aloud.

“Shit. Shit!”

“Disconnect!”

She didn’t stay to see what happened to him, throwing her headset off and blinking furiously to get readjusted to the dark room she was in. The computer on the desk in front of her was painfully bright.

“Shit shit shit,” she repeated over and over as she typed frantically. She sent one last (encoded) message to MYrdDiN92jh before downloading her latest project to her hard drive. A long, agonizing minute passed. When it was done, she yanked the hard drive out of the computer, executed one final program, and wheeled as fast as she could out of the room.

Her mother had always said she was too paranoid. But her mother was lazy, ignorant, and an all-around horribly unprepared person. That one the one lesson she had given her daughter: Don’t be like me.

In the closet was a backpack of the essentials. Clothes, snacks and water, cash, medkit, and a shit ton of fake IDs. She grabbed it, fingers shaking. She had been warned this might happen, but she never could have expected the terror.

The house was still. She sped down the hall, pausing only briefly to glance out the window in the dining room. No one in the backyard. At least, no one noticeable.

The doorbell rang.

Her breath came fast. Slowly, she peeked out of the room. The stained-glass window showed a silhouette on the outside. No, two silhouettes.

She looked out the dining room window again. The bushes at the back of her yard shivered.

The doorbell rang again. Shit. Nothing else to do.

The door inched open.

* * *

Lotus was luckier.

He walked through the cafeteria calmly, one hand clutched on his bag like always. He nodded at some, smiled and waved at others. “Heading to class,” he told Sam. “Day off. Visiting some family,” he said to his roommate. “Getting laid,” he joked to his best friend, only winking when questioned.

Later that night, he sat on the bed in the motel room, nervously staring at the TV. His phone was long gone and already he felt the separation anxiety. Surely the safe house would have something fun to do. Lotus palmed the one “personal item” he had brought with him: a small clay sculpture in the shape of a hellhound.

What had happened to his friends? It was just supposed to be a fun day. A fun competition. Now, they might both be dead.  _ He  _ could end up dead soon, if he wasn’t very careful. He had prepared thoroughly, but so had Rex. So had Ichthys.

No. No, he would be fine. He had gotten this far. All he had to do was make it to the safe house with his hard drive, and he could start over.

He took a half hour in the bathroom, then crawled in bed at night.

When he woke, the curtains were open.


	2. coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Test: Bright and Clef reunite  
> Results: death  
> Notes: "You succeeded."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like i said, i dont write too often, so my style changes a lot. im going to try to keep it more consistent in the future, but enjoy the sassy narrator in the mean time

Alto Clef thought he could get in and get out of the site easy peasy, with no chance of running into the person to whom fate has bound him. On one hand, you got: a huge ass facility, countless personnel members, so many other interesting creatures and events and... and... THINGS, to occupy a site director’s time. On the other hand... fate.

“Ah shit,” said Clef. Instinctively, he glanced for any door to duck into. Alas, the walls of the hallway were covered in smooth, clean white paint for hundreds of meters in each direction, save for the floor-to-ceiling windows on one side, peering into a giant aquarium brimming with things that didn’t look exactly like fish. A janitor and a nervous intern stood outside an elevator back behind him. In front of him? Hoo boy.

“Hello to you, too,” said a woman wearing a lab coat, khakis, and a glaringly obvious silver necklace with a large ruby in the middle. “Long time, no see. Been busy?”

“Classified,” said Clef, despite the fact that almost nothing he had done for the past year was above Bright’s clearance level. “Hmm, unfortunately, I’m rather busy right now. Just had to, well, deliver a message.”

“Funny,” observed Bright, “Because I got a rather interesting email a day or so ago. Something about... you taking a well-earned vacation?”

“Yeah,” said Clef, scratching his chin. “Have to catch a flight. Trying to see life from a new perspective. Third-class.”

“Shame. Would’ve been nice to catch up.” Bright looked down at the laminated pages in their hands. “I’ve been asked to review 835’s condition. They want to move it again.”

“Hmm.”

Clef edged down the hall.

“You really won’t stay, will you?” said Bright. They sighed. “At least let me buy you coffee. For old time’s sake.”

“Bright—“ He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I have to catch a plane.”

“Liar. You’re still trying to work. Why won’t you take a single day off?”

A researcher passed them. “Not here, hm?” said Clef.

“Then where?”

“Fine. Coffee. Fine. Let’s go.”

A hint of a smile graced Bright’s lips. “Can’t. 835.”

“I’ll wait for you in your office then.”

“No, you won’t.” Bright took a few steps in the direction they were heading and nodded for Clef to follow. “Come with me. You’re not leaving my site. Er, sight.”

“What?”

“Come along!”

Clef could have sworn there was a bounce in Bright's step, but the thought made him sick, and he purged it from his head.

* * *

Bright stumbled back, mouth agape, eyes cloudy before tripping downward to find a dark stain slowly ruining their favorite button-up.

Clef narrowed his eyes, keeping the shotgun pointed at them.

“That’s... unfortunate,” said Bright, clear liquid bundling at the corner of their eyes and thick liquid dripping out of their mouth. “I almost beat my record. One more week with this body... and it would have been the longest.”

“Ah, my bad,” retorted Clef. “I should’ve been more considerate.”

“Ye—yeah.” They looked up, eyebrows squished together. “I thought... I thought maybe I...”

“Maybe you what?” said Clef, swallowing hard. Don’t let it show. “Maybe you were special enough to figure it all out? Get me to tell the truth? Find my weakness and get me to slip up? To make me break my walls for someone? Well, you know what?” _You succeeded_. “All that blood looks good on you. Really brings out your eyes. Maybe I’ll find you again and shoot you again. Or maybe I’ll take the damn necklace with me and put you on random people I find in the street and shoot you again and again. Maybe you’ll feel special then... What are you laughing at, dipshit?”

Bright fell to their knees, spitting out another wad of blood. “You’re a liar, Alto Clef,” they chuckled faintly. “Ever the liar.“

Clef forced his mouth shut as Bright collapsed onto the floor, and after a few more moments, became silent.

He thought about taking 963. He knew better.


	3. marriage proposal — 049 x 035

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Test: You get out of Jail by… (1) throwing doubles on any of your next three turns; if you succeed in doing this you immediately move forward the number of spaces shown by your doubles throw; even though you had thrown doubles, you do not take another turn; (2) using the “Get Out of Jail Free” card if you have it; (3) purchasing the “Get Out of Jail Free” card from another player and playing it; (4) paying a fine of $50 before you roll the dice on either of your next two turns.  
> Results: still in jail  
> Notes: "You can’t blame a mask for trying."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if ur curious about the title, remember that these first 3 chapters started as separate short fics. i just happened to carry the names of the snippets into the chapters.

Dr. Bright stared at the couple on the other side of the desk. “Let me get this straight,” they said, pushing up the glasses that still felt too loose on their face (ugh, why couldn’t they find a host with decent vision? How did normal people live like this?). “You want to be released from Foundation custody… because you’re dating?”

“ _ Married _ ,” said 035, clutching 049’s arm closer. “For centuries.”

“No offense, but who would officiate  _ that _ wedding?”

“Pirates,” said 035. “What’s with that look? The captain of a ship can perform marriages, and pirates were waaay more accepting of our love than you are. And you claim to be progressive, tsk.”

Dr. Bright bit their tongue. This would be a story for Crow later. “Well, regardless of your… marital status, you’re not getting out. Both of you are hazardous to society.”

“This is homophobic,” whined 035. “You—”

“Though I am curious about 049’s view of the matter,” said Bright, eyes glinting. “You haven’t said anything yet this entire time.”

“I haven’t found much to add,” 049 replied after a pause. He raised his head, having been staring at his lap for most of the conversation.

“Well? Do you want to be let out, too?”

“Being able to resume my research and treatments without the interference of the Foundation would be agreeable, yes…”

“I sense a ‘but’ there.”

035’s grip on 049 tightened.

The plague doctor tilted his head. “I will miss the sterile environment the Foundation provides and the company of so many learned persons.”

“You say that like you  _ are _ leaving,” said Bright, making a mental note to interview 049 later.

“Kingdoms have risen and fallen around me,” said 049. “You, too, will pass.”

Bright raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think I will.”

049’s small eyes pierced through the mask, pinning Bright to his chair. He said nothing, but Bright felt their mouth run dry. They were used to confronting danger, even dying, but every so often, the primal instinct hit them again.

“You’ve heard my answer,” said Bright, standing and beckoning through the window for the guards to enter the interview room. “Though you really should have expected it. No one in this organization in their right mind would have agreed.”

So why had they indulged them with the meeting? Bright shook their head, trying to clear the headache that came with switching to a new body. Sometimes, they still felt the bullet in their stomach and the warm blood on their hands. And the broken neck that wouldn’t let them die immediately. And, sometimes, their head being cut off their body. But that was a long time ago. They tried to push past it nowadays. Glass would want to know about it but what could Glass do?

Mostly, he kept remembering the look in Clef’s eyes. Fucker must have slipped some kind of amnestic in their coffee. Why would he do that?

Bright wished they could remember what they had done to make Clef so upset.

035 started to sweet talk the guards and Bright immediately grabbed one of the guns and shot the mask in the head. The body collapsed over. 049 went out peacefully, leaving Bright alone in the room with a dirty mask and a rotting corpse.

Sometimes, Bright sneered at 035 for wasting human life, for stealing people. But then they remembered the Foundation expected these people to die anyway, and they felt sick. And then they remembered they did exactly the same thing. And then 963 became heavy, dense, and the chain dug deep into Bright’s skin.

They pulled out their pager and had the path back to 035’s containment cell cleared. In the corner of the room, hanging on the coat rack (a bitter irony, thought Bright) was a thick piece of cloth, made special for 035. Bright had read the paper long ago, something to do with 148 and  SAM2X5-630, a type of glass/steel thing. They had thought it was exceedingly clever at the time, but the headache was making their already shitty vision even worse, and—headache be damned, they weren’t about to let the psychotic anomaly sit in the room any longer than necessary.

Carefully, they wrapped the cloth around the mask, ignoring the faint whispers in the back of their head. They wouldn’t let the bitch breach containment, not today. They had the afternoon off, and they were enjoying it, goddammit.

_ You can’t blame a mask for trying _ .

“Fuck off,” they said aloud. 

* * *

“049,” said Bright, sitting backwards in the chair and watching the still figure of the plague doctor. “This is a follow-up interview after the conversation we had earlier.”

049 sat on the other side of the containment chamber, on his bed, staring at Bright without much expression. Bright had been in this room many times before, stared at that figure many times before. It wasn't anything particularly new. Bright was almost bored.

"Needless to say, I'm a little confused," said Bright, cracking their neck. "The containment specialists report that you've been rather quiet these few months, and then when we ask you about 035's request to speak to me, you have almost fewer things to say."

There was no response.

"I've lived a fairly long time," continued Bright, looking intently for any changes in 049's demeanor. "I know what depression looks like. I know what being locked up feels like. But a creature like you, with such innate drive, just giving up like this. You know I'm going to have some questions."

"It is rather discouraging to be denied my true purpose," 049 replied flatly.

"Somehow, I think this goes a little bit further than us not giving you test subjects."

049 stood and walked towards the desk, folding his hands behind his back and looking down on Bright. "Constantly being told that my ultimate enemy is merely a delusion is... rather hurtful, over time. Imagine no one around you could see any of the work you have done. All that you have done for the sites you manage, all that you have done to preserve life, all that you have done to keep everyone happy. All for nothing."

"I don't do all that (and more) just for the recognition."

"No, perhaps not. And I don't perform my work for recognition, either. But this, coupled with being unable to help those I was designed to help..."

049's eyes glazed over, staring at the wall. Bright sighed, leaning back. This would take a lot longer than they wanted.

"What about 035? How come you seemed to expect it when we told you about its proposition?" 

"You are well aware that I wish to be free of my cell," replied 049. "There had been little else to do with my time and I was under the assumption he would try something eventually. I didn't know exactly what he was planning, or when it would happen, but it was a welcome distraction from this monotonous space."

"And what about his claim that you two are married?"

049 turned his attention back onto Bright. It was hard to read the plague doctor's expression sometimes, but there was a glinting humor in his eyes. "We've been bonded for a long time. By human standards, yes, we were married a long time ago. The exact nature of that arrangement is difficult to describe, though. We are not exactly 'spouses' as you would define it."

"Fair enough. I got the sense, earlier, that there was something you wanted to talk about that you didn't mention."

"What do you mean?"

Bright smiled sourly. "I've been thinking, and I can think of only three options. Either there is a secret that you and 035 don't want to share with the foundation, there is a secret that you don't want to share with 035, or both. If it's the first, then I'll have to resort to mind tricks. But if it's the second, then know that I can be persuaded to not mention anything to your lover."

"I can assure you, there is nothing I wish to discuss with you."

Bright sighed and stood. "Does this have to do with Alagadda?"

It was subtle, but obvious if you were looking for it. 049 stilled, eyes pinned on Bright. "I do not know what you mean."

"Of course. Though I am curious. See, Alagadda is a sort of alternate dimension. Or, rather, a city within an alternate dimension. We've sent quite a few of our teams there. Notably, they came into contact with several scholars of Alagadda--well, I'm skipping ahead a bit, but you should know that Alagadda is a somewhat sophisticated--though rather horny--place. Plenty of scholars and knowledge to be found within. Our teams ran into a few of these scholars and had some interesting conversations. Now, a bit after brainstorming with some brilliant junior staff, we had the revelation: there were a few other scips that reminded us of Alagadda. We thought long and hard, and during one of the times when you offered your journal to us, we decided to take it to this place. And, what would you know, one of those scholarly inhabitants of Alagadda took a look at it and recognized not only the words, but also the content. So, we came to a conclusion; either you coincidentally recreated the Alagaddan language and stumbled across some Alagaddan schools of medicine..." Bright stood next to the panic button, eyeing 049. "Or you've been to Alagadda."

"An interesting theory," 049 replied after a long moment of silence.

"Yeah, I agree." Bright grinned, tilting their head to the side. "You wanna know what other connections we made?"

049 didn't reply.

"Oh, come on, guess."

"Considering your emphasis on the knowledge that Alagadda contains, I would hazard to say the Wanderer's Li--"

Bright threw their hands up. "Stop fucking with me. You know damn well who I mean."

"Perhaps I do," replied the plague doctor. "But, please, do not remind me."

Bright opened their mouth, but what else was there to say? 049 had confirmed it.

They should make him say it, to finalize the theory. They furrowed their brows, remembering the late nights spent scouring anything relating to Agent Ukulele and the Cornwall Incident. They vaguely remembered their body shutting down from exhaustion and dreaming about Clef entering the room and staring at them for a long time. It was just a dream, but they had never forgotten the feeling of being caught.

What _would_ Clef had said about that? No doubt he had a string of lies prepared for that very line of questioning. If that article was to be believed (and Bright had learned long ago that not all of them could be trusted), then Clef would refuse. Even for Bright... which maybe hurt more than a gunshot wound.

They shook their head, trying to expel those thoughts from their head. Then they remembered Clef's desperate look as he shot them. And suddenly the mask and the plague doctor didn't seem as absurd as they had initially thought.


	4. no cishets allowed in this story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Test: examine Tragic Backstory  
> Result: 3/3 examined successfully  
> Notes: "He remembered the taste of the lightning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh my eyes wouldnt focus on my screen as i was writing this so i apologize for any typos

For most of his life, Lotus was completely normal. He was a smart kid, sure, and sometimes picked on or boasted about, but there were other people around him who could relate to him. He’d complain that he’d get a 99% on a test and there would be at least one person who understood why the pretentiousness mattered to him.

Then, he met Gwen in his freshman year at college. She was the one who taught him to be cool, around the same time when he realized he didn’t like sex. She was obsessed with the anomalous, and her obsession soon crept into Lotus’s own heart.

After their first kiss at _Sommes-Nous Devenus Magnifiques?_ , they found Morgan, who happened to be from the same town as them. He told them where to meet late at night, away from the prying eyes of those who had no taste. Morgan was a kind and compassionate man, one who gently suggested ways to improve and inspired a sort of drive in everyone who met him. Lotus had thought his methods were a little old-school, though, and Gwen helped him create the Sommerset?.

He reached out through various connections and found Ichthys. He liked Ichthys. She was intelligent, if a bit critical at times. Gwen would gush about the pieces she consumed, but Ichthys always had something more interesting to talk about.

The break up had been on the horizon for a long time, and suddenly it was noon. Gwen wound up in the hospital while he was in the Sommerset? with Ichthys. When he finally heard the news and rushed to her side, almost two days had passed.

He admitted she had every right to be angry. Outside of Morgan’s hangout, they didn’t talk nearly as much as Lotus would have liked. In a moment of anger, Gwen pointed at her wrists and shouted that it was Lotus’s fault.

Lightning came through the window and struck them.

The next few hours were a blur, mostly of nurses nervously looking him over. He couldn’t move but there were no scars. His clothes were untouched.

Morgan came to visit. Lotus’s parents were too far away, so Morgan broke the news to him. Gwen was gone.

At night, alone in his hospital room, he watched the window hoping for sleep to come. It didn’t stop raining for a month after Gwen died. A full month. Thirty-two days. The rain sometimes let up in the morning, but it always came crashing back. The television in his room spoke of flooding. His parents couldn’t get to him.

He was used to anomalous objects. Anomalous phenomenon, though? Anomalous lightning? Everyone said it was just some freak accident, but he remembered the taste of the lightning, the split second between Gwen yelling and the booming noise.

One day, he lifted his head to look out the window. He thought, “It will stop raining now.” And within fifteen minutes, the rain was gone.

A week later, he was released. He had miraculously regained control of his body.

The Sommerset? was waiting for him. Ichthys mercifully didn’t ask where he had been, or where Gwen had gone, but the Sommerset? felt too empty.

That’s when Rex wandered into Morgan’s hang out, as wide-eyed and enthusiastic as Lotus had been. How could he say no?

* * *

The slow dripping of coffee from the coffee machine was the only sound in the room. The lights of the city waxed and waned outside, illuminating a small figure with brushed back hair.

Rex kept one hand next to the coffee machine, wanting to pace or break something. When the mug was finally full, she pulled it out, dropping only a small lump of sugar into the cup before downing it. It burned her tongue. The burn didn’t last for long, as usual.

“Pity,” said the figure by the window. “If that’s all, then…”

“I can still recover the vessel,” Rex insisted. With the coffee in her system, her nerves cooled ever so slightly.

“How?”

“I acquired several assets while undercover. One of them—”

The figure turned its head. Its eyes glinted, glasses displaying the pearlescent grayness of its irises. “Artists care not about our business. What makes you think they’ll help?”

“One of them,” Rex said, swallowing hard. Her heart banged against her ribs, almost painfully. “He was close with the keeper of the vessel. He’s Green. I can convince him to help.”

“Or, the Foundation will take you as well,” said the figure. “Perhaps they will siphon my secrets off of you. What am I to do then?”

“I haven’t failed yet. The keeper of the vessel will do her job, and I can finish mine. And if I don’t… you’ll do what you were going to do anyway. If you let me continue, you at least have a chance.”

The figure was silent for a long time. Rex swirled the mug around, watching the grounds at the bottom twist and disappear. She took one last drink and finished off the cup, already itching for another one.

~~Her brother would be mad if he knew she had still been drinking.~~

“Very well,” said the figure. “Fly, little Red bird.”

She breathed out shakily as she left, trying to look at least somewhat dignified.

* * *

035 wanted to sleep. It had been so long.

Years ago, centuries, millennia, some impossible amount of time ago, they had been able to close their eyes ( _eyes_ ) and rest their body upon soft sheets. The smell of lavender drifting through the open door would wake them up in the morning, and then they would turn over and pretend to rest for another hour, mostly just listening to the soft humming in the other room. Things had seemed so simple then. Eventually, someone would come trembling into the room and announce their was business to take care of, and 035 would debate beheading themself before ultimately dragging themself outside.

Of course, you couldn’t sleep unless you had a physical body. And, if 035 was lucky enough to snatch a body in this economy, there were better things (and people) to do than waste time sleeping.

But they missed the ability to skip forward in time, to simply let nonexistence snuff them for a few hours (or days… or months—time worked differently back home).

The good thing about being a mask? You don’t have to worry about those silly things called bodily functions. The bad thing about being a mask? You don’t get to worry about those silly things called bodily functions. Paradoxical, sure, but true.

They’d find a more permanent solution eventually.

Eventually.

Right?

.

Yes, of course.

They wouldn’t have come this far— _wouldn’t_ have come this far— if not for the promise of one day reclaiming all that they had lost. Wiping that smug smile off of the Ambassador, kneeling before their Papa again, scandalously courting the court physician. All would celebrate the return of their Lord. All would revel in the break from the monotony of Mirth.

Maybe they’d kill Mirth. They’d have to be careful with that. Afterall, _they_ had learned to escape death. There would be someone that could supply them a means of eliminating Mirth for eternity. Maybe the masks were the key. Rip it off his stupid face and smash it into little pieces, then shove them down Mirth’s throat. Yes, that would do nicely.

Mirth had always hated 035. Well, maybe not 035. 035 wasn’t the same person. 035 was born anew from the death of their predecessor.

No. That wasn’t correct. They only took on that name… what, 150 years ago? Time worked differently here. It took some remembering sometimes. Who were they before? Before the Foundation?

Ah, maybe that didn’t matter that much. Maybe their dear doctor knew something about it. Maybe being a mask made remembering things harder. But they’ve been a mask for a long time. Wouldn’t they have figured that out by now?

Unless they forgot every time.

Wait.

No, they could remember things well enough.

Could they?

.

Yes. Their chambers in the palace. Lavender and the soft bed with the blue sky framed by the open window. The bedroom and the office in the upper floor, leading down to the front door, and the small cobblestone path. Wagons rolling by, horses…

.

.

.

That wasn’t the palace. That wasn’t Alagadda.

When was that? Did it matter?

They used to live in the palace of Alagadda. What did the palace look like? They remembered their Papa in the throne room, soft voices, wondering when the Ambassador would be back. They remembered Mirth’s mask, always patronizing them with that smile, always grinning too widely, too garishly.

They remembered their Doc by their side, always. They can’t remember a time before coming to the Foundation that they were ever alone.

Though, to be fair, they’re not alone that much at the Foundation, either. Their containment cell is made of several hallowed cubes of some kind of glass that is frustratingly difficult to break. There are always researchers or guards peering through the distorted glass. 035 can’t capture their faces well, or even their thoughts. The glass makes everything incredibly fuzzy.

Any moment spent outside of this prison is better than nothing. They’ve been tempted a few times to take their case to the Ethics Committee, but they doubt that would get very far. Still worth a shot though. Like that meeting with Dr. Bright, even precious minutes mean the difference between patience and insanity.

They bide their time. They think about a lot of different ways to break the glass, to lure unsuspecting humans close, to smash all of their brains into the ground. They would follow the scent of lavender and find life outside of whatever the Foundation has to offer.

No. That’s not right. They’d find their way back to Alagadda if given the chance, and take back what if rightfully theirs. If the Ambassador hasn’t killed their Papa by now. If Alagadda still stands.

It’s been a long time.

It won’t be much longer.


	5. Lily Pads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Test: finish the job  
> Results: you're weak  
> Notes: “Does it look like I know shit about anything?”

Despite his fondness for those cheesy tourist shirts with the Hawaiian flowers, Clef has never been a beach person.

Two days into his break, he uses some of his reserves (i.e. money that the Foundation, nor any other significant organizations, may not know about under any circumstances) to pay random people on the highway to drive him to a relatively small college campus across the country. Unfortunately, due to circumstances outside of his control (that’s what you get for travelling with random people, who apparently need to spend an extra hour at every rest stop), he gets there 12 hours late. His target is already gone, likely warned by the sudden disappearance of the other AWCY? members.

Even a 12-hour lead isn’t enough to stop him. He’s been in more challenging situations. At least this isn’t another god.

At least it’s not personal.

* * *

_ [Audio excerpt from a recorded untitled lecture at Site-302 regarding Type Greens:] _

> Now, this is the part where I’m supposed to tell you the fancy psychological tricks that allow you to predict a Green’s behavior. I’m sure there’s some of you who think this lecture was going to be about the analysis you find on shows like Law and Order. Thought you were gonna do mental backflips to outwit someone that can fry your brain in a matter of a millisecond?
> 
> Unfortunately, cognitive prediction is unreliable at best for anyone who doesn’t have an anomalous gift for it. So the Foundation wants us all to try the boring route of using these weird… frankly,  _ clunky _ devices that measure the hume level in the area. Think geiger counter, but for anomalies rather than radiation. We’re still trying to make these smaller and more efficient, but they work for now.
> 
> Basically, you show up, and you follow this thing  _ hot-or-cold _ style until you figure out where the source of the anomaly is.
> 
> You may be asking, ‘Well, why not use this to track down and find all anomalies? Why am I only hearing about this when it comes to Greens?’ Or maybe you’re not paying attention and you didn’t wonder that. Unfortunately, it’s a relatively unknown fact that the anomalous is all around us. I mean, we’ve got thousands of contained skips, and there’s probably thousands more around every corner. Stuff that other people have made or found, or stuff that we haven’t made or found yet. Sure, we could probably track these things down. But when you get down to it, you realize that the Veil isn’t really the separation of reality and anomaly. The Veil is a construct, made up, just some shit the Foundation spits at us to make us feel like we’re actually doing something useful with our time. Here’s the truth: anomalies are reality. They’re everywhere, many uncontainable. They’re just part of daily life at this point. All the Foundation does is make sure that nobody loses their mind over it.
> 
> Hell, for all we know the sun might be an anomaly. What’s the point in trying to contain the sun, you know?
> 
> We can’t make these devices sensitive enough to track  _ all _ anomalies, or they’d never work. In fact, they’d probably just break the Veil. So, for now, we stick to following the residue left by Greens, which is noticeable enough to get picked up by these things.
> 
> Oh, yeah, the residue. So, a person with anomalous abilities warps reality by just existing, regardless of what they’re doing. The anomalous energy given off by sapient entities is different than most other anomalies. I suppose you could say that an anomalous object might be sweet, whereas an anomalous person would be sour. Tastes just as strong, if not stronger a good deal of the time, just tastes a little different.
> 
> Yes, Miss Smith? Oh, good question.
> 
> Truth be told, the Foundation has been considering something like this device for a long time. However, the problem with the Veil that I mentioned came up, so most projects got shut down. Then, with some thanks to… well, I can’t say who, but a Foundation personnel member pointed out that sapient objects twist reality in a slightly different way. It’s a bit like how a machine makes a product versus how a person makes a product. A machine can be programmed to do one thing, and do it decently over and over again. But a person handcrafts everything, adding flourishes and signatures and variations.
> 
> All we had to do was create a system for reliably detecting the difference between a ‘machine’ and a ‘person,’ and bam. We can track Greens.

* * *

Clef could sense his target, probably asleep. Reality was quiet around him, unlike those stupid beaches and highways he had passed by on his way here. Unusually still, in fact.

He was tempted to break down the front door and deal with witnesses later, but the last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself when he was supposed to be off work. He had gone for over a decade without using vacation days. Finally, the Ethics Committee forced him to take time off.

He didn’t like taking time off. His brain had nothing to focus on, and his mind’s eye drifted over mental compartments long untouched.

The window was unlocked and the surrounding area clear.

The motel room was… lived in, to say the least. The blankets on the bed were tossed to the ground. A trail of discarded clothing led to the bathroom, and the TV hummed softly with static.

On the bed was a kid dripping with sweat. Literally, dripping. As if they had just stepped out of the shower half-clothed.

Clef raised his shotgun. The weight was familiar, even as he stared at those bright red eyes, glinting in the dark, blood seeping into the white coat, a voice murmuring  _ ever the liar _ — 

No. He’s getting sloppy. Block it out. Focus on the target.

Focus on the gray eyes…

Shit. He had missed his opportunity. The kid stared at him, frozen on the bed. A soft breeze trickled into the room.

“Wha…” said the kid, glancing at the shotgun. Clef tightened his grip on reality, willing it to be steady.

“Don’t talk,” said Clef, hoping they're as incompetent as they look. “Get up.”

Silently, the kid sits on the edge of the bed, face pale in the dark. “Foundation?” they whisper.

“Something like that. Don’t talk.”

“I expected… men in black… or nerds or something.” They left the rest unspoken, staring at Clef’s crumpled, unwashed tourist shirt.

Clef narrowed his eyes. All he needed was that perfect fraction of a second, and then he could take his shot.

“Are you going to kill me?”

He blinked.

And that was all it took.

* * *

Lotus stared as the strange man fell forward with a yelp, landing with a painful thud on his knees. For a moment, all Lotus could do was sit in confusion and terror, before a warm hand grabbed his shoulder and shoved him towards the door.

“Run, Myrrdin!”

It was weird hearing his pseudonym in real life, but he instantly knew it was a friend come to save him. Suddenly, his legs worked again, and he bolted.

A shot rang out behind him, but it didn’t sound like a shotgun.

Someone was directly behind him. Together, they ran across the balcony and down the stairs. “Motorcycle!” said the person. Lotus caught a glimpse of dark clothing and afro-styled hair.

His savior jumped on the bike first, and he awkwardly got on behind them. “Hold on unless you want to wind up in the hospital.”

Lotus swallowed.

The bike took off, too quickly for Lotus’s taste, but he hung on.

A shot rang off behind them. He felt his mouth open and let out a strangled noise. Something warmed trickled onto his hand.

“Can you distract him?” said his savior.

“What? How?” he yelled back.

“I don’t know, what kind of weird magic you got?”

“What?”

“I said—”

“I heard what you said!”

As the motel faded in the distance, dark clouds gathered overheard. Thunder temporarily made the motorcycle sound like a soft lullaby.

“Can we get something more discreet maybe!” said his savior.

Lotus closed his eyes. It would happen again, wouldn’t it? They’d both die this time. The hair on his arm perked up.

There was a bright flash, originating from somewhere back at the motel.

Then the rain started.

“Haha! Now that’s like it!” said his savior.

The rain jumped out of the way of the motorcycle. Even the ground became dry at their approach.

Lotus’s mouth dropped open.

Was he doing that?

* * *

Eventually, maybe hours later, they stopped outside of a dark, unfamiliar nightclub. Lotus nervously climbed off, wrapping his arms around himself. He was uncomfortably aware that he wasn’t wearing his binder.

His savior climbed off the bike and turned to look at him, her face impassive. The dark eyes, red eyeliner, and bright lipstick were a surprise.

“Hey, Myrrdin. You good?”

“...Rex?” he said.

“The one and only,” she said, grinning.

Lotus look at his hands, caked in blood.

“Oh,” she said. She put her hand to her side, where there was a small but noticeable hole in her leather jacket. “Yeah, forgot about that. It’s chill.”

“Are you okay? Were you shot? What the fuck.”

Rex stopped, then looked Lotus up and down. “Wait. Wait a minute. You… You don’t know what you are? Type Reds, Greens, anything?”

“Does it look like I know shit about anything?”

“Oh god,” was her only reply.


End file.
